


Late Bloomer

by thatoldbroad



Series: Embarrassingly Late [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack, Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoldbroad/pseuds/thatoldbroad
Summary: Keith thinks he's dying. Or he's in the throes of puberty. Either way, he's hungry for cock.





	Late Bloomer

Following Keith’s discovery that he had fluid leaking from his _ass_ and the panic it brought that Keith might be dying - a logical conclusion combined with the night sweats, low-grade fever, and stomach cramps - Keith realizes three things about himself: 1) he’s gay; 2) a bottom; and 3) submissive.

That Keith has never actually had sex is of no consequence. Hours of research and testing - a.k.a, watching porn - have made Keith’s conclusions irrefutable. Why else did he drool at the sight of a big daddy monstrous muscle-boy cock? And why did he instinctively want to take that cock in his ass, on his hands and knees, or on his stomach, or missionary style so long as his wrists were pinned to the bed and his legs thrown over a pair of bulky shoulders?

The culprit must be his Galran biology. He’s cursed. He had known it instantly that day of the trials, but to the extent - a _leaking ass_? He could never have guessed. It’s bad science fiction, beyond the capacity of Keith’s imagination. Only the crudest mind could have conceived such a thing. Unfortunately for Keith, the fiction is real. It’s very, very real, as is Keith’s current state of need. As in: Keith needs to be fucked, preferably starting yesterday.

Goodbye indifference, so long solitude: puberty has arrived. Either that or Keith has caught a nasty alien virus. What else can explain this sudden surge of interest in sex? He had no idea it was so vast. Indeed, an entire universe of positions, costumes, toys, and role-play. He’s dizzy from his newfound knowledge. He’s gone from Switzerland, neutral on all accounts to, to … Las Vegas. And not the glitzy, sparkly, high-roller version of it. Oh, no. Keith is CSI-Las Vegas - sleazy, soiled, likely to be found humping behind a dumpster or strapped to a sex machine. 

Huh. A sex machine. Could Hunk and Pidge cobble together - negative. They’re geniuses, not magicians. Keith can’t just order a Barbarella-style fuck toy and expect them to deliver it overnight. They would need at least a week. Maybe three days, tops. He could goad them into an efficient turnaround: “I bet you can’t complete it in two days, you pathetic fools.” Okay, so maybe his goading will need some work. In the meantime - because Keith is now firmly entrenched in the sex machine happening - he needs a short-term solution. His eyes flit over items in his room. What can he use?

“Keith?”

Keith nearly jumps out of his skin. His head snaps toward the sound of Shiro’s voice from the other side of the door. An idea forms in Keith’s head - Shiro? Huh. But just as quickly, Keith dispenses it. Bad idea. Terrible, awful, no-good idea. He cannot use Shiro. It is not serendipitous that he appeared at Keith’s door just as Keith was contemplating his electric toothbrush. So stop thinking about, Keith. Stop thinking about those bulky shoulders right now.

“Food’s ready.”

Of course it is. Shiro has just come to collect Keith for dinner as he does every night. Perfectly ordinary. They are not actually destined to fuck. His stomach twists at the disappointment, but Keith ignores it. It’s easy enough. He’s been ignoring it for years. He can’t, however, ignore his current state of - Keith looks down at himself: shirt rucked up to his armpits; pants undone and pushed below his hips; cock erect and bared; ass leaking. Also, he’s sweaty, pink, and smelling strongly of - raspberry lotion? Keith’s not sure, but if he bottled it, he’s certain it would sell tops at the 3-for-10 dollar sales at Bath & Body Works. It’s the type of scent that can’t be buried, not even if Keith layered up like he’s been exiled to Siberia. 

In conclusion, Keith cannot leave his room and Shiro must go away. How best to achieve that? A response shapes on Keith’s tongue, something reasonable, convincing, level-headed. He opens his mouth - “Go away!” shoots out of it in a shriek. That was … poorly executed. Keith groans and buries his face in his hands. He hasn’t even had sex yet and it’s already making him stupid.

Unsurprisingly, Shiro says, “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” Keith starts to say (not shriek), but it doesn’t make it past his lips in time to keep Shiro out. The door is sliding open and Keith scurries to cover himself. He fails. The blanket is drawn barely past his knees when Shiro steps through the doorway.

And Keith rethinks his theory on puberty. He may have caught an alien virus, after all. Because Shiro looks like Keith feels - wrecked on sight. And it must be instantly infectious, like Ebola, because sweat is already beading at Shiro’s temples and a flush is blooming high on his cheeks. His chest is heaving. Keith is dazed by the movement. Glory, but Shiro’s pecs are luscious. Keith wants to mash his face in them. 

Keith whimpers.

Shiro growls.

Then Shiro is stalking toward Keith.

The teeny tiny remaining rational part of Keith’s brain kicks into drive and he scrambles back until he hits the wall. Because Shiro is terrifying. Keith had never thought so before, but Shiro has never advanced on him like this, like a lion about to spring and Keith is a baby giraffe about to be mauled to death. And that metaphor is just _sad_. No baby giraffe should ever have to go down like that. Keith wants to cry. And _what the fuck?_ Puberty. This has to be puberty. And he’s turned into a hormonal queen.

Thoughts dissolve after that, because Shiro is upon Keith suddenly and all of Keith’s nerves flare bright at his proximity. His temperature spikes. He’s hot, burning, but shaking, too. The anticipation is killing him and it’s only made worse by Shiro nosing behind his ear, a bare, faint connection of skin. Not enough, Keith thinks wildly, but he’s paralyzed from seeking more. His arms are leaden weights at his side, as if spelled to be immoveable. He cannot yank Shiro forward and move him along. He must wait for Shiro to finish, to scent Keith at his leisure until he’s had his fill. How Keith knows that - he gasps. Shiro has licked his armpit. A tide gushes out of his ass. Holy hell.

Large hands grab Keith by the hips and flip him onto his stomach. Keith is stunned by his sudden change in position, but it’s incomparable to his shock at what comes next. Shiro grips Keith’s ass and pries the cheeks apart. Hot, damp breath brushes his hole. He isn’t about to - is he? It can’t be sanitary, not especially while Keith is leaking like a faucet.

“Oh,” Keith gasps. 

Cleanliness be damned. Shiro’s tongue is a wonder. Agile and greedy, it slithers round and round Keith’s hole, flicking dainty pointed licks, then hardening to penetrate past the ring of muscle. Keith buries his burning face in a pillow. He had _no idea_. Porn did not prepare him for the actuality of slick, wet, rough, soft, as Shiro tongues him into next week. Saliva and slick are pooling in his crack and he is so very, very hard. He ruts against the sheets and pushes wantonly back at Shiro’s face.

“More,” Keith begs.

Shiro obliges instantly. He slides a finger - thick, thick, and huge, and Keith drools at how much bigger and thicker and more monstrous Shiro’s muscle-boy cock must be. No lube. Because Keith is sufficiently wet, so wet that the finger enters with an obscene squelch. And Shiro knows what he’s doing. His finger is on a mission. Which means he’s done this before, a thought that flares up jealousy in Keith, but extinguishes just as quickly when Shiro’s finger finds the spot - prostate, Keith recollects faintly - that makes Keith clench and _oh_. The air evaporates from his lungs.

“Shiro,” Keith cries brokenly.

Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, Keith chants silently in a loop, while Shiro prods and rubs and drags his finger along that bundle of nerves. Three fingers later, Keith is gasping, floundering, and flopping against the sheets like a fish out of water. The picture he must make: spread-eagled, lying helpless, half-dressed with Shiro’s fingers buried in his ass. A puddle underneath him. In the right state of mind, Keith would be embarrassed. But Keith’s state of mind hasn’t been right, not for days, and it’s relentless in its pursuit. Shiro can spend endless hours milking him another day. Right now - right now Keith’s body is demanding more. 

Keith flings an arm behind him and grabs Shiro’s wrist. “You need to fuck me,” Keith tells him over his shoulder and catches his first glimpse since he pounced on Keith. Shiro is _undone_. Arousal is naked on his face, in the hard points of his nipples, and Keith feels a surge of pride: I did that, he thinks smugly. But he doesn't linger, not while Shiro's cock calls his attention and, glory, but is it something. The mere outline of it, tented to near bursting, makes Keith's toes curl. “I want it,” Keith says, unable to tear his eyes away. “Give it to me. Please. Please, Shiro, please, please fuck me, please - ”

Then it’s happening. Shiro is inside him. And oh god is he big. Keith can feel him in his throat. 

Velvety soft, brutally hard, and brushing, brushing against his prostate, every long, hard stroke pushes Keith closer and closer to the edge, until his eyes are rolling back, until the pleasure flays him down to the truth, and he can admit, finally, that he has wanted this, all along and always. And when Shiro grinds out, “Mine” - as he grinds his cock in Keith’s ass - Keith thinks yes.

Yes, yes, yes, until Keith whites out.

_

 

Hours later, they take a break.

“So you think it’s because you’re half Galra?” Shiro pants.

“What else could it be?” Keith pants back. “You?”

Shiro lifts his Galra arm. “Not conclusive, without testing. But I have a strong suspicion.”

Metal. Machine. A built-in sex machine arm? Huh.

But then Shiro is kissing Keith again and they get back to business.


End file.
